PS 3513 
.E23 P6 
1904 
Copy 




Class __t\5_3_3,L3.__ 
Book 



CoipghtN" 



COnfRlGHT DEPOSIT. 




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POEMS 



B Y 



FELIX CONNOP 



I 



CAMPION & COMPANY 
PH I LAD ELPHIA 



LIBRARY nf CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

JUiN 7 1904 

Q/ioyrlffht Entry 

CJiASS (X XXc. No. 

COPY B 






Copyright 1904 
By MARY A. GEISSE 



DEDICATION 

To My Mother, 

Whose loving comradeship has ever been a source 
of strength and inspiration. 

Dauntless in spirit, and loyal in deed, 
Truth is thine armor, and love is thy creed, 
Learned in the wisdom of sorrow and pain, 
With patience that turneth thy losses to gain. 
With hope that has conquered, despite of all fears, 
And grown but stronger with heartache of years. 
Serene in thy faith that no task is too hard, 
To the soul who will fearlessly wait upon God. 



AUTHOR'S PREFACE 

Let the critics have their fling, 
Since it pleases me to sing. 
I shall blithely go my way 
Heedless of the things they say, 
Quite content if word of mine 
Makes one truth more brightly shine, 
Or can send a genial glow 
Through the heart of friend or foe. 
For I hold the proverb true, 
Be its wisdom old or new, 
That "A simple verse may teach 
Him whom sermons cannot reach." 



CONTENTS. 

7 

Courage g 

Life's Mystery 

That Little Pronoun My 9 

Shadows 

The Recess Hour 

My Bishop ••;•;, ]l 

''I Am the Resurrection and the Life 

.... 17 

Autumn g 

The Heart's Power 

The Fortified ^^ 

20 

My Love ^^ 

A Prayer for 1903 

The Days Pass On ^^ 

Lines to a Faithful Dog ^4 

The Demands of the Modern Church 25 

A Pastor's Thorns ^ 

''Trusts" ^^ 

The Poor Relation ^ 

Epitaph On a Lawyer 30 

AH Men Are Equal 3^ 

Giving Advice 3 

The Complaint of a Bonnet 33 



The Mosquito 35 

^ Answer to "The Under Dog" 36 

Answer to Kipling's Poem ''The Islanders" 37 

The Laurel 38 

O Justice Why Dost Thou Tarry 39 

Remembered Days 40 

Watch O Lord Beside the Sleepless 42 

The Eager Questioner 43 

My Old Playmate 45 

The Storm 46 

Lines Written New Year's Eve, 1903 48 

A Phophecy 50 

Truth 52 

"Let There Be Light" 53 

A Pastor's Retrospect 54 

Lines Written on a Mutual Acquaintance. .. 56 
Soliloquy of a Village Parson (A Study 

from Life) 57 

My Legacies 59 

I'd Like to be a Lion 61 

A Bachelor's Musings 63 

Bobby's Questions 65 

Whispers at a Wedding 66 

The First Day at School 69 

A Child's Plea 71 

The Lost Kite 73 

The Children of the Tenements 75 

A Newsboy's Story 77 



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COURAGE. 

Courage, O thou inspirer of the Race ! 
Where is the enemy thou canst not face ? 
What noble spirits hast thy power sustained; 
What battles thou hast fought, what victories 

gained ! 
No man can count the wonders thou hast wrought, 
Thy mighty conquests in the realms of thought ; 
In peace, in war, in science, and in art, 
SubHmely, nobly, hast thou played thy part, 
Calm and undaunted in the midst of foes. 
Ready to meet the keenest of earth's woes. 



LIFE'S MYSTERY. 

All life is a mystery, 

Each star and each flower, 
The birth of a day 

And the death of an hour. 

All life is a mystery, 
The far-stretching land. 

And the pitiless sea 

As it breaks on the strand. 

All life is a mystery, 

Its joy and its pain. 
Its hope and its love. 

And its loss and its gain. 

All life is a mystery 

Wherever we go. 
For the will of the Father 

Has ordered it so. 



THAT LITTLE PRONOUN "MY." 

That little pronoun ''My," 
How much it means to each, 

How often do we use it 

In daily thought and speech. 

It stands for the possession 
Of all the heart holds dear, 

For all the priceless treasures 
That make us hope and fear. 

It stands for love of country, 
It stands for love of home, 

For the best and brightest blessings 
That the human race has known. 

Ah ! that magic little pronoun, 
What strange power it doth hold. 

It has made the bravest timid, 
It has made the timid bold. 

It has sent men forth to victory, 
It has sent men forth to doom, 

It is spoken at the cradle, 
It is spoken at the tomb. 

It has been throughout the Ages 

Ever on the lips of man. 
In the life of every nation 

As a part of God's great plan. 
9 



SHADOWS. 

The shadows they lie in the corn-fields 

Under the fair blue sky, 
Where the winds sweep over the meadows, 

Softly the shadows lie. 

The shadows they lie in the courtyards 
Of the prisons dark and grim, 

Where pinched and haunted faces 
Look out from abodes of sin. 

In the highways, too, they linger, 
Where the busy crowd goes by, 

Each too absorbed or anxious 
To note where the shadows lie. 

But the darkest of all the shadows, 

The shadows that longest last. 
Are the shadows of man's own makinp^- — 

'^he shadows that sin has cast. 



lo 



THE RECESS HOUR. 

Hark ! it is the recess bell, 
That the children love so well ; 
And the school doors open wide, 
To let out the eager tide. 
You can hear the distant hum, 
Of their voices as they come. 
They're as eager to be free, 
As we grown folks used to be. 
You will find them just the same, 
If you pause to watch a game. 
Some are timid, some are bold, 
The same contrasts as of old. 
All the various types are there, 
Showing both neglect and care. 
Now you see a little face. 
That is ideal in its grace. 
And again a pair of eyes, 
That are prematurely wise. 
Wise in knowledge of the woe. 
That their owner should not know. 
Little women, little men, 
With the child-life crushed in them. 
II 



li.ofO. 



But what happy faces, too, 
Will look shyly up at you. 
Little faces, that in truth, 
Show the magic joy of youth. 
Children merry, sturdy, fair, 
Wholesome as the sun and air. 
And you wonder as you gaze, 
Musing on their artless ways. 
What hard lessons life will teach, 
What will be the fate of each. 
Will those restless little feet, 
March to victory or defeat ? 
In the battle each must fight. 
Who will take the side of right ? 
Who will triumph, who will fail, 
When the Tempter shall assail? 
How much sorrow — how much joy, 
Waiteth for each girl and boy? 



MY BISHOP. 

My Bishop! Ah, how strange it seems, 

His new won dignity, 
When I recall him as the babe 

I rocked upon my knee : 
And then the prattling toddler 

With the imperious will, 
Whose cheeks would flame with scarlet, 

Whose feet were rarely still. 
Ah me 1 the many tumbles 

His fat legs gave him then ; 
To-day he walks sedately 

Among his fellow-men — 

My Bishop. 

Again I see a vision 

Of a bright, sturdy boy, 
A youngster live and agile. 

Brimful of hfe's sweet joy; 
So eager for the knowledge 

The coming years would bring, 
13 



So tender and considerate 

Of every living thing, 
Indignant at all meanness, 

The champion of fair play, 
Frank, loving and courageous, 

Just as he is to-day — 

My Bishop. 

How well I can remember 

His boyish scorn of wrong, 
In telling how some weaker lad 

Was bullied by the strong: 
His eyes would flash at mention 

Of an injustice done, 
He only prized a victory 

When it was fairly won. 
And how he loved his "Heroes" ! 

I call them his indeed. 
For he has truly made them 

Part of his life and creed — 

My Bishop. 

And when I look into his face 
And tenderly the past years scan, 

I murmur in my deep content, 
''The child is father of the man." 

For not one hope is unfulfilled, 
Each blessed promise of his youth, 
14 



The g-enerous spirit of the boy, 
His love, his loyalty, his truth. 

These give his words their power to heal. 
The weary, doubting heart to reach, 

And so his prayer has been fulfilled, 
"O teach me. Lord, that I may teach." 



15 



"I AM THE RESURRECTION AND 
THE LIFE." 

Violets are spreading their bloom o'er the grasses, 
Daisies are turning gold hearts to the sun, 

Gay feathered songsters are weaving romances, 
Everything tells us that Spring has begun. 

Even the air has a message of gladness, 
A subtle uplifting the spirit perceives, 

As though it rejoiced in the work of creation 
While sporting again in the new-budding 
leaves. 

Slowly, but surely the work is progressing 
Out of the silence and out of the gloom, 

Into the light God is calling the flowers 

As He shall summon each soul from the tomb. 

This is the meaning, the glory of Spring-time, 
This is the lesson it holds for us all. 

Patience abiding the day of fulfilment, 

Faith till the voice of the Master shall call. 



i6 



AUTUMN. 

Once more fair Summer yields her state, 

Serenely stepping down, 
While Autumn in her royal robes 

Ascends to take the crown. 

The splendor of her coming 

Is witnessed far and near. 
For all the land is lavish 

In setting forth its cheer. 

And proudly do her banners 

Float over wood and field, 
In token of the homage 

Her willing subjects yield. 

There's not a town or village 

Her bounty doth not bless, 
The poorest little hamlet 

Has donned its gala dress. 

For 'tis the ancient custom. 

As honored as 'tis old. 
To wear the royal colors 

Of crimson and gold. 

And never grander pageant 

By mortal eyes was seen 
Than the resplendent welcome 

That waits the Harvest Queen. 
17 



THE HEART'S POWER. 

''As a man thinketh in his heart so is he.*' 

What forces are pent in the hearts we meet, 
That pass us by on the crowded street; 
So many in number, and many in kind. 
Each one ruled by a different mind. 

Hearts that are warm, and hearts that are cold, 
Hearts that are timid, and hearts that are bold ; 
Hearts that are laden with grief and care, 
Hearts that are joyous and light as air. 

Hearts that are pure from the stain of wrong. 
Hearts that are tender and true and strong; 
And hearts, alas ! that are false and weak. 
Hearts of whose deeds we grieve to speak. 

For every man plays a different part. 
As good or evil rules his heart ; 
And the heart decides what the man shall be 
Not only for time, but eternity. 



18 



THE FORTIFIED. 

Ye who dwell in sheltered places, 

Pray for those whose frail barks toss, 

Mariners on seas tempestuous, 
Souls who suffer wreck and loss. 

Pray, ye leaders in life's battle. 
For the privates in your ranks. 

Pray in memory of your victories 
And with reverent hearts give thanks. 

Pray, ye men of age and wisdom. 
Whom experience has taught, 

For the young who must encounter 
The temptations ye have fought. 

Pray, all ye by grace uplifted 
For the worsted, helpless ones. 

Pray, for all the least, the saddest 
Of God's myriad of sons. 



19 



MY LOVE. 

My Love ! how much I miss her 
No heart but hers can know, 

Earth seems Hke some strange planet 
Since she was called to go. 

It was here that last we parted, 
The fields were all in bloom, 

The daisies were so many 

They seemed to scarce have room. 

The orchards I remember 
Were gay beneath their load, 

They now stand bare and desolate 
Beside the frosty road. 

The oak by which we lingered 
On those fair Summer eves, 

Is now bent low with crystals 
Instead of glossy leaves. 

The little brook that rippled 

And sung by yonder hill, 
Lies now in ice-bound silence, 

Its banks all bleak and still. 
20 



The flowers we used to gather 
Are hidden neath the mould, 

No more the soft breeze whispers 
To bid their buds unfold. 

In the dark earth they tarry 
Till God shall summon them, 

To rise again in beauty 

And cheer the hearts of men. 

And I, too, wait His summons 
When I my Love shall meet, 

Where love and life are endless 
And joy shall be complete. 



21 



A PRAYER FOR 1903, 

Father, in the year beginning, 
Grant us wisdom, grant us peace, 

Let all doubt and wrong diminish, 
And all hope and love increase. 

Train our eyes to truer vision. 

Train our ears to know Thy voice, 

Let all nations be united 
And in noble deeds rejoice. 

Let the bonds of sin be riven 
And the flag of war be furled. 

Let it be a year of victory 
In the history of the world. 



23 



THE DAYS PASS ON. 

Morn follows night, 
Night follows morn, 

In endless round 
The days pass on. 

The days pass on, 

A silent train, 
The days of sunshine 

And of rain. 

They tarry not 

Whatever they bring. 
The deepest joy, 

The sharpest sting. 

The days pass on, 
O solemn thought. 

Whatever wrong 

We may have wrought. 

The days pass on, 
They do not wait, 

E'en though they seal 
A nation's fate. 



23 



LINES TO A FAITHFUL DOG. 

silent friend! in thy sagacious face, 

1 read the wisdom of the canine race, 

Thou needest no tongue thy meaning to impart, 

Thy acts reveal how wise and true thou art. 

And oft thou shamest us of nobler birth 

By thy fidelity and sterling worth. 

All honor to thee, then, and to thy kind 

For many a faithful dog thou bringest to mind 

Sir Walter's *'Maida," loyal and astute, 

Splendid example of a noble brute. 

And little ''Diamond," whose familiar name 

Is closely linked with her great master's fame, 

The loved companion of that noble sage, 

Sir Isaac Newton, marvel of his age. 

Thus history tells how many a seer and bard. 

Honored thy race with their sincere regard ; 

And how Sir Landseer, famous in his art. 

Immortalized the favorites of his heart 

Till 'neath his brush a splendid gallery grew. 

Of noble dogs, beloved, my friend, as you. 



24 



THE DEMANDS OF THE MODERN 
CHURCH. 

Wanted a pastor, strong and young, 
A man of brain, with silvery tongue ; 
Possessed of liberal, moderate views. 
Whose eloquence will fill the pews ; 
A man who'll interest young and old 
And add new members to the fold ; 
And one who's not afraid to work 
And will no smallest duty shirk ; 
Whose sermons will be always new 
And whose vacations will be few ; 
Who'll manage without fuss or fret 
To free the church of every debt; 
With disposition mild yet firm. 
Not lax nor yet unduly stern ; 
If such a man will but apply 
On our good-will he can rely ; 
And we'll be glad to have him stay 
Until his hair is turning grey, 
When we'll politely let him know 
That it is time for him to go. 
And seek new pastures where his skill 
May be appreciated still. 
For such is now the Christian way 
Of treating ministers to-day. 



25 



V 



A PASTOR'S THORNS. 

The Pastor's critic ! that is he 
In the pew to the right marked number three ; 
You'll always find him in his place, 
With the same hard look on his cynical face. 
He's thoroughly versed in Scriptural lore, 
But his heart is withered at the core; 
Withered by pride and self-conceit, 
Which are ever ready the soul to cheat. 

And that little man, so sleek and fat, 
Who has just come in, is the autocrat; 
He rules the market of grain they say. 
And would rule the church if he had his way ; 
While across from him on the middle aisle. 
The gossip sits with complacent smile, 
So busily conning the news she has heard 
That her ears are deaf to the Holy Word. 

These three are the Pastor's sharpest thorns, 

Although there are others for whom he mourns ; 

Others whose foolish and godless ways 

Vex his thoughts and sadden his days. 

For in the fold, among his sheep, 

There are goats enough to make him weep. 



26 



- "TRUSTS." 

Beware of gluttony ! That hackneyed phrase 
Has been repeated in a score of ways 
By men renowned for wisdom and for truth, 
Who sought to warn misguided age and youth, 
And show the sin, the wretchedness and woe, 
The countless ills that selfish greed can sow ; 
For greed, alas ! in every land and age 
Has cast a blot on history's fairest page,, 
And still it rules, and still its slaves obey, 
Despite the boasted progress of to-day, 
Despite Religion, which has sought in vain 
This monstrous sin to conquer and restrain — 
This sin which triumphs by the blackest arts, 
Debasing and embittering human hearts ; 
Which never once the qualms of conscience feels, 
But in the name of ''Trusts'' both cheats and 

steals. 
''Trusts/* corporate bodies which like cormorants 

seek 
To glut their greed by preying on the weak. 
And call it "Trade/' a very clever ruse 
For knaves who seek a plausible excuse, 
And seize upon the plea of "Competition'* 
When the wronged laborer offers his petition. 
For selfish greed, as everybody knows, 
Cares nothing for the poor man or his woes. 
But only seeks to gather, gather in, 
Regardless that such gluttony is ^in. 



27 



THE POOR RELATION. 

I am a poor relation, 

A dreadful plight to be in ; 
Vm looked upon as a bete-noir 

By all my prosperous kin. 

Whene'er we chance to meet, 

No welcoming smiles I see ; 
Well do I know the frigid looks 

That are in store for me. 

A few there are who pay me 

An occasional duty call, 
But most of them wish to forget 

That I exist at all. 

And on the street they give me 

A freezing little nod. 
While their spinal cord seems suddenly 

Constructed like a rod. 

Or oftener it happens 

They pretend preoccupation, 

Though their self-conscious looks betray 
They've seen their poor relation. 
a8 



Besides these snubs and slights, 

I've numerous other woes, 
Among which not the least 

Is wearing shabby clothes. 

My coat is very seedy, 

My frocks they are antique, 

And when there comes a rainy day 
My shoes are sure to leak. 

I've but one bonnet to my name, 
And that is three years old ; 

My umbrella is a sieve. 
And gives me many a cold. 

In fact of worldly treasures 

I've a very modest store, 
But I hope t'will be increasing 

As I daily ask for more. 

For added to my troubles 
Is the constant wish to spend, 

Not for selfish pleasures only, 
But the needy to befriend. 

And when I hear some tale of woe 

I find it doubly trying. 
And I wish my heart, like some I know, 

Was slowly ossifying. 



29 



EPITAPH ON A LAWYER. 

Ungoaded by clients, untempted by fees, 

A weary attorney lies here at his ease. 

He died while engaged in a difficult case, 

Like a poor jaded horse who falls down in a race. 

And just at the moment the goal was in sight, 

When in triumph he would have emerged from 

the fight. 
'Twas hard luck, indeed, that his call should have 

come, 
Ere his fee was received, and his laurels were 

won; 
But since he has left us, we'll trust that the Lord, 
Will give our dear brother a fitting reward. 



30 



"ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL." 

''All men are equal?" Shall such folly stand, 
A blot upon the culture of our land ? 
The jest of other nations when they read, 
America established such a creed ? 

''All men are equal?" Born with equal chance, 
With equal strength to struggle and advance ? 
The child of ignorance, of want, of wrong, 
In him can virtue ever be as strong? 

"All men are equal?" What does science say, 
While wrestling with the problems of to-day ? 
Is there no gulf twixt luxury and toil — 
Twixt those who own, and those who till the soil ? 

"All men are equal?" He who digs a trench 
The equal of the judge upon the bench ? 
Or the poor woman scrubbing floors all day. 
The equal of my lady at the play? 

"All men are equal?'' Stand upon the street, 
And view the passing crowds you daily meet, 
It only needs a casual glance to see, 
How false this doctrine of "Bqnality" 



3i 



GIVING ADVICE. 

The easiest task 

That a mortal can find, 
And pleasing, I think. 

To the average mind, 

Is giving advice. 

For I need not explain, 
That it does not require 

A surplus of brain. 

You see it is easy. 

So easy to mend 
The fortunes or faults 

Of our neighbors and friends. 

We would do thus and so 

Had fate placed us like them. 

We complacently say. 
When we judge and condemn. 

And we frequently show ourselves 

Narrow and mean. 
As censure grows fat, 

And compassion grows lean. 

But we never can know 
How we really would act. 

Since theory is always 
So different from fact. 



32 



THE COMPLAINT OF A BONNET. 

I once was a Sunday bonnet 
And shaded a lovely face, 

But now for some reason or other 
I find I'm in disgrace. 

My fair young mistress treats me 

With unrelenting scorn; 
Excepting in bad weather 

She never puts me on. 

She took away my bandbox 

To shelter her new hat ; 
She says I am not stylish, 

What can she mean by that? 

She says my rim's too flaring. 
And that my crown's too small ; 

And yet, upon my honor, 
I haven't changed at all. 

I am the very bonnet 

That she admired so. 
And purchased with such pleasure. 

But one short year ago. 
33 



So why IVe ceased to please her, 
Is more than I can tell, 

For of one thing I'm certain 
That I became her well. 

And as for grace and beauty, 
Why any one can see, 

The hat that she is wearing 
Does not compare with me. 



34 



THE MOSQUITO. 

When at night the weary mortal, 

On his couch would seek repose, 
Then's the time that the mosquito, 

Ever confidential grows ; 
Buzzing, and forever buzzing, 

In the victim's drowsy ear, 
Biting to impress his meaning, 

Lest his language be not clear. 

Each swift stroke he deftly dodges, 

For, as everybody knows, 
He's as agile as tormenting. 

And the air receives the blows. 
Then, despite his size, he's fearless, 

And persistently attacks. 
For, whatever else is wanting, 

'Tis not courage that he lacks. 



35 



ANSWER TO "THE UNDER DOG." 
(A poem published in **The Press.") 

If your heart goes out to the under dog 

Then hasten to find a stick, 
And lay it upon his conquering foe 

With a resounding lick. 

Of what avails your pity, 

To rid him of his foe ? 
If your heart goes out to the weaker dog 

Go strike for him a blow. 

Deeds, my friend, in the struggle of life 
Are the shots that are sure to tell. 

For many a poor dog vanquished lies 
Who had scores to wish him well. 



36 



ANSWER TO KIPLING'S POEM, "THE 
ISLANDERS." 

Who dares malign old England, 
Who says her sons will sport. 

Regardless of her honor 

While foes are yet unfought? 

Who scoffs at English courage, 

What cynic dares to say 
That bravery is wanting 

In English hearts to-day ? 

Are there not hosts to answer, 

The living and the dead. 
To stand for English valor 

When Kipling's lines are read? 

For will not England's records. 
Both past and present show 

That England's sons stand ready 
To vanquish any foe? 

Look back on all the victories 
Her valiant men have won. 

Look back on gallant Nelson, 
Look back on Wellington, 

And doubt not England's courage. 
Despite this poet's sneers, 

Her men to-day can equal 
The men of bygone years. 

37 



THE LAUREL. 

In thy glossy leaves, O laurel ! 

What rich memories abide, 
Though thou art of lesser stature, 

Thou canst match the oak in pride. 

And thou hast a nobler mission 
Than that monarch of the wood, 

For thou art the crown and symbol 
Of the glorious and the good. 

By Apollo thou wert chosen 
As an emblem of high praise, 

For the famous and heroic 
In the old Hellenic days. 

And he gave thee "yo^^h eternal" 

As a token of regard. 
Hence thou art a fit oblation 

For the hero and the bard. 

For though earthly fame shall perish, 

Genius is forever born, 
And great deeds are still inspired 

By the conquerors who have gone. 



38 



O JUSTICE, WHY DOST THOU TARRY? 

O Justice! why dost thou tarry? 

Men wait thee in cottage and hall, 
But thou— thou art deaf to their pleading, 

Thou mockest the great and the small. 

In the silence of night they entreat thee, 
They sue, they petition for grace, 

The baffled, the wronged, the defeated. 
Adjure thee to show them thy face. 

The men who have fought to deliver, 
The men who have fought to subdue. 

Both hardened and penitent sinners. 
By thousands are waiting for you. 

The "Voice of the Ages" has sounded, 
A bugle call solemn and strong. 

To tell thee how sore thou art needed. 
Then why dost thou tarry so long? 

O Justice ! arise in thy grandeur, 

Go forth to all nations of men, 
And where there is virtue reward it, 

And where there is evil condemn. 



39 



REMEMBERED DAYS. 

In the quiet of the evening, 

When the shadows gather deep, 
When the violets fold their petals 

And the merry songsters sleep ; 
When the little firefly flashes 

Through the gloom his tiny light, 
And the crickets add their music 

To the voices of the night; 
When the heavens show their splendor 

And the far worlds brightly shine, 
Then I think with passionate longing 

Of a heart that once was mine ; 
And once more I cross the meadows 

With a lover's springing tread, 
While my pulses thrill at memory 

Of the maid I hoped to wed; 
And again I see her seated 

At the foot of some old tree, 
With that tender smile of greeting 

That she always kept for me. 
40 



Thus in fancy oft I seek her 

As I sought her long ago, 
In the old familiar pathways 

Where our feet were wont to go; 
And I catch a faint reflection 

Of the joys of that lost time, 
As I gaze in memory's mirror 

At that old sweetheart of mine. 
Would she know me now I wonder, 

Will she know me when we meet 
In that land of truer vision 

Where our lives shall be complete? 
Will she have a smile of welcome 

For the earthly love she bore, 
Those old days will she remember. 

When we meet to part no more ? 



41 



WATCH, O LORD, BESIDE THE 
SLEEPLESS ! 

Watch, O Lord, beside the sleepless ! 

Who in weariness and pain, 
Count the long, dark, silent hours 

Till the day shall dawn again. 

Watch, O Lord, beside the sleepless ! 

In the lonely nights of fear, 
When the spirit's gloom is deepest 

Let us feel that Thou art near. 

Watch, O Lord, beside the sleepless ! 

Crown the silent hours with peace, 
Let them strengthen, let them teach us. 

Bid all vain forebodings cease. 

Watch, O Lord, beside the sleepless ! 

And Thy blessed faith instill, 
Till each restless heart is ready 

To abide Thy holy will. 



42 



THE EAGER QUESTIONER. 

Do you hear the robins calling, 
Calling in the early morn ? 

Do you hear the robins calling 
As they flit amid the corn ? 

Do you see the daisies peeping 
From the folds of their green bed ? 

Do you see the daisies peeping, 
Lifting each a yellow head ? 

Tell me, are the cowslips nodding, 
Nodding in the gentle breeze, 

While the greedy bees are sipping, 
Sipping honey at their ease? 

Has the oak increased its shadow 
Since we chatted 'neath its shade? 

Has the oak increased its shadow, 
And a wider circuit made? 

And the willows by the stream. 
At the foot of the old hill, 

Where I used to sit and dream. 
Do they greet the traveler still ? 
43 



Ah, the years have been so long! 

I can scarcely hope to find, 
All the dear familiar things, 

The old landmarks left behind. 

But you, dear, will be the same ? 

Just as loving, just as true, 
Though the whole wide world should change 

You will still be always You ? 



44 



MY OLD PLAYMATE. 

Is it she with whom I played ? 
She? — that happy Httle maid! 
This pale woman, sorrow bowed, 
With a face so stern and proud — 
Face that haunts the memory long 
With its tale of grief and wrong. 

And the child I used to know, 
How she shrank from sight of woe ! 
Hers was such a fair domain, 
She could brook no thought of pain — 
Nothing that would bring distress, 
Her dear world must only bless. 

Ah ! I seem to see her still. 
With her sweet, imperious will. 
And her eager, joyous ways, 
Bright as nature's brightest days. 
She was sovereign, I was knight, 
Always yielding her the right; 
Though I sometimes would protest 
When I thought I knew the best. 
But I'm glad she had her way, 
When I look at her to-day, 
Glad for every hour of joy 
That we knew as girl and boy. 
45 



THE STORM. 

Sombre clouds in heavy masses 
Hung above the orchard trees, 

And the little birds came flocking 
To the shelter of the leaves. 

There in frightened groups they huddled, 
Pressing close, as friend to friend, 

While the wind in its mad antics 
Made their perches creak and bend. 

And the rain came down in torrents, 
Forming a weird sheet of light, 

While the distant thunder echoed. 
And the sky grew black as night. 

Then, as fiercer rose the tempest. 
Flash on flash of lightning came, 

Till the landscape was encircled 
By a belt of lurid flame. 

And the thunderclaps resounded 

In a deafening applause. 
Loud above the crashing timber 

Of great trees that split like straws. 
46 



Thus the storm, like some wild monster, 
Who is fighting- for its prey, 

Raged until it sank exhausted, 
Then its fury died away. 

And a breathless calm as solemn 

As the silence of remorse. 
Fell upon the woeful wreckage 

It had scattered in its course. 



47 



LINES WRITTEN NEW YEAR'S EVE, 1903. 

Dearest put thy glasses on, 
Do not mind old Father Time, 

Though he touched thy optics first 
The same fate's in store for mine. 

And those little silver threads 

He has woven in thy hair, 
In that soft and shining web ; 

In a few short years I'll share. 

But those lines of earnest thought 

I can never match, I fear; 
Mine but tell of selfish griefs 

As their markings grow more clear. 

Ah ! if years would always show 
Half the worth that thine unfold, 

I should love their footprints well. 
And would laugh at growing old. 

The proverbial staff I'd take 

Cheerfully from the hand of Time, 

If the fates had only blessed 

Me with heart as young as thine. 



Heart that never can grow old, 
Though its owner rank with seers ; 

Heart that would be still the boy's 
Though it beat a thousand years. 

Blest art thou, with blessings, dear. 
That no time can overcast. 

And thy happiest day will be 
When thou meetest God at last. 



49 



A PROPHECY. 

When our brief days are o'er, 

And death's solemn call 
Comes to you, and to me. 

As it must come to all ; 
When each of us stands 

At Eternity's bar. 
The deeds we have done, 

The men that we are 
Shall judge us. And strange 

Will that verdict appear 
In the face of the values 

We recognize here. 
We shall see transformations 

Of which we ne'er dreamed 
When the actual shall triumph 

In place of what seemed. 

And all shall see clearly. 

No falsity then 
Will hamper or darkea 

The vision of men. 

50 



They will know the true worth 

Of the lives they have led; 
Of the deeds they have done 

And the words they have said ; 
And the strong, as the weak, 

Shall stand in God's sight 
Where none can take rank 

Save by virtue of right ; 
Where the prayer of the king 

As the beggar's shall be: 
O Father, I've sinned. 

Show Thy mercy to me ! 



51 



TRUTH. 

O sacred Truth, thou hast a sovereign's power ! 

And though thy crown is set with many a thorn, 
None can deprive thee of thy royal dower, 

And none deny that thou art nobly bom. 

And thou shalt ever have a loyal band, 

To guard thy kingdom, and surround thy 
throne ; 

No servile minions, but hearts true and tried, 
Whose aims are pure and lofty as thine own. 

Thus through the Ages shalt thou hold thy sway 
And still more glorious shall thy conquests be, 

More splendid victories than are thine to-day 
Are the great triumphs yet in store for thee. 



52 



"LET THERE BE LIGHT!" 

"Let there be light !" it was God's first command, 
He bade it search and test the hidden land ; 
And at its touch Earth's glory was unfurled, 
The mighty forces of this wondrous world. 

"Let there be light !" for light has ever stood, 
As the eternal symbol of all good, 
Embodying all that man shall yet attain, 
The highest knowledge and the richest gain. 



53 



A PASTOR'S RETROSPECT. 

Oft I see the little chapel 

Where I preached in bygone years, 
With the courage of a prophet, 

And a faith undimmed by tears. 

Ah ! those golden days resplendent 
With their promises of good, 

When I sang as glad hosannas 
As the wild birds of the wood. 

For I labored, never doubting 
That the seed I planted then, 

Would be wrought in nobler living, 
Would "uplift the hearts of men." 

But to-day the sense of failure 

Is upon me as I preach, 
I am saddened by the memory 

Of the truths I could not teach. 

Ah ! the anguish of that knowledge 

As it slowly, surely grew. 
When I felt the "incompleteness" 

Of the work I strove to do. 
54 



For the weight of added burdens 
Haunted, pressed me day by day, 

Mourners I had failed to comfort. 
Sinners who had turned away. 

Questions that I yearned to answer 
Seeking vainly for the truth, 

Problems that had never vexed me 
In the happy days of youth. 

Yet I know no pain is fruitless 
And no work is vainly wrought, 

If it serves to bring us nearer 

To our Lord in deed and thought. 

And I know, despite Life's mysteries. 
Secrets that must baffle man, 

Naught shall mar the final victory 
Of the great "Eternal Plan." 



55 



LINES WRITTEN ON A MUTUAL 
ACQUAINTANCE. 

Old Winter has arrived in town, 
He came last night by the express, 

And though he hasn't told his plans, 
He'll make a lengthy stay, I guess. 

I met him on my way to church, 
He joined me with a frigid smile ; 

In vain I hoped to see him thaw, 
Although he walked with me a mile. 

In fact he hasn't changed at all. 

He's just the same hard, crusty fellow, 

And will be to the end of time. 
No age will ever make him mellow. 



56 



SOLILOQUY OF A VILLAGE PARSON. 
(A study from life.) 

My Sunday's text, what shall it be ? 

Alas ! I find it hard to write, 
When the restraints that hamper me 

Weigh heavy as they do to-night. 

There's Deacon "Boss," whose stubborn will, 

And factious spirit I deplore. 
Who thinks he ought to rule the church 

Since he repaired the chancel floor. 

And back of him is Samuel "Cant," 
Who also holds a prominent pew, 

A pompous little vestryman 
Who is, alas ! my mentor, too. 

While just across the middle aisle 
Sits cranky Miss Matilda Strong, 

An ancient dame of pious mien. 
Who says my sermons are too long. 
57 



And wants to tell me how to preach, 
And thinks a pastor should refrain 

From those too practical remarks 

Which give a sensitive conscience pain, 

And further down sits Stephen Black, 
A man of doctrine, cut and dried, 

Of narrow mind and sordid aims, 
Brimful of Pharisaic pride. 

And there are many, many more 
To whom my duty bids me speak, 

Men whose religion is, i fear, 

**A Sunday garb donned once a week." 

And yet my fate is in their hands — 
The very bread bv which I live. 

So if I fail to lead aright 

Through impotence — O Lord forgive. 



58 



MY LEGACIES. 

When I read, as oft it happens, 
That some kicky milHonaire, 

Has just died and left a fortune 
For his relatives to share, 

Then I say alas ! — if only 
That old chap had known me, 

If I'd had the happy fortune 
To have been his legatee. 

For although I've been remembered 

By departed kith and kin, 
I have never had the present 

Of a legacy of tin. 

Uncle Samuel always liked me, 

Though he could not leave me wealth. 

But I have the gout in memory 
Of his poor rheumatic self. 

And Aunt Mary, heaven give her 
All the peace that she deserves. 

Left me as a last memento 
A large legacy of nerves. 
59 



Uncle Robert was a spendthrift 
And had nothing to divide, 

But his love of ease and luxury, 
And his share of family pride. 

These, alas ! as fate would have it, 
Was my legacy from him, 

Though he often used to snub me 
As the poorest of his kin. 

While my dear paternal grand-pa, 
A good man I never knew, 

Left me nothing but a record 
Of the things he'd hoped to do. 

Think you not I've cause to grumble 

And occasionally repine? 
Can a man be always cheerful 

Who has legacies like mine ? 



60 



FD LIKE TO BE A LION. 

I'd like to be a lion, 

For I'd have friends galore, 
They'd come from far to visit me 

And shake my mighty paw ; 
And all my faults would dwindle 

Before their tolerant eyes. 
And all my little virtues grow 

To a colossal size. 

I'd like to be a lion, 

What lessons I could teach, 
I'd use my claws on all the knaves 

Who came within my reach ; 
The mean, the base, the cruel, 

Should quail beneath my wrath. 
Until the boldest villain 

Would fear to cross my path. 

6i 



I'd like to be a lion, 

I'd strive with all my might 
To aid the weak and helpless, 

And to defend the right. 
Fd teach the new commandment 

In such a novel way, 
'Twould be an inspiration 

To folks for many a day. 

I'd like to be a lion, 

As big as Samson slew; 
I wonder if I'd grow as vain 

As some great lions do. 
They say it often spoils a man 

To be considered great, 
That only kingly souls can stand 

The test of high estate. 



62 



A BACHELOR'S' MUSINGS. 

I sometimes like to sit and think, 

If I had married Margaret Ann, 
The life I would be forced to live 

Would quite upset its present plan. 

I could not have this costly flat, 

Nor would I have a cent to spare ; 
I'd live in some cheap little house 

And toil beneath a load of care. 

There might be noisy children, too, 

And Margaret Ann — ah ! who can tell — 

Might not have proved the mate for me. 

When 'Xove's young dream" had lost its spell, 

And yet, upon a stormy night, 

When I can feel the outer gloom, 
I'd yield my luxury and my pipe 

To see her flit about the room. 

I'd even hear an infant's squall. 

And bear it with a stoic's smile. 
To feast my eyes on her sweet face, 

And clasp her hand a little while. 
63 



What curious hearts we mortals bear, 
How few of us can find content, 

We choose the path that seems most fair, 
And yet how often we repent. 

Repent although we do not know 
But that our choice has been the best, 

And that the joys we crave to-day, 
To-morrow might not lose their zest. 



64 



BOBBY'S QUESTIONS. 

Dear Lord, I know you're very great, 

And I am little, only eight, 

But there are things I'd like to say, 

To ask you. Lord, before I pray. 

For it's no use to ask mamma, 

I've questioned her and my papa. 

But neither one the answer knew. 

So I resolved to come to You. 

I want to know the reason why 

So many children have to die ? 

And why, with so much bread and meat. 

Some folks have not enough to eat ? 

And why some lucky little boys 

Have all the fun, and all the toys. 

While others have to work all day, 

And have no time to romp and play ? 

And, please, I'd like you to explain 

Why people have to suffer pain? 

For pain don't make us good, you see, 

It makes a naughty boy of me ; 

For when I have a real bad ache. 

You know what noise and fuss I make. 



65 



WHISPERS AT A WEDDING. 

Here she comes — the organ's playing, 
Johnny, dear, don't crowd me so ; 

See, mamma is looking at you. 
You're the rudest boy I know. 

Yes, it's she ! they all are coming, 
I can see way down the aisle, 

And the bride looks awfully solemn ; 
I should think she'd want to smile. 

Wonder if she thinks it's proper 
For a bride to look that way ? 

Oughtn't people to look happy 
When it is their wedding day? 

Uncle Willie says that marriage 

Is a very serious thing; 
That you take a lot of trouble 

With the giving of the ring. 

Did you hear him say to father 
That unless he lost his head. 

He would always stay a bachelor. 
That he never meant to wed ? 
66 



Shall you be a bachelor, Johnny? 

I intend to be a wife, 
For I'd rather take the trouble 

Than be single all my life. 

There's the bridegroom, can you see him ? 

Hush ! the service has begun, 
Don't you hear the preacher speaking ? 

We can't talk till he is done. 

Now it's over — they are rising. 

See, they're coming down the aisle ; 

Don't the bride look awfully solemn, 
But I saw the bridegroom smile. 

Brother, maybe she is sorry 

That she promised to obey ; 
Uncle Willie says that women 

Always want to have their way. 

That no matter how they're treated. 
They are dreadfully perverse, 

So the preacher always tells them. 
It's for better and for worse. 

'Cause he thinks he ought to warn them 

Of their danger at the start, 
So they know, before they promise 

"Until death us two do part." 
67 



Why, if that's not Uncle Willie ! 

In the doorway — don't you see? 
He is smiling, and is looking 

Straight across at you and me. 



68 



THE FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL. 

I say my name is Johnny Blake, 

I'm the new rector's son, 
And if you try to bully me, 

I'll thrash you every one. 

I know my father thinks it's right 

To turn the other cheek, 
But I'm a different sort of chap ; 

You'll never find me meek. 

I treat my comrades fair and square. 

For I believe in God, 
But when a fellow's mean to me, 

You bet I can strike hard. 

But I am not a fighting chap, 
I'd rather, far, be friends. 

And I'll forgive an enemy. 
If he will make amends. 

And when a fellow is my friend, 
I stick through thick and thin; 

As long as he is true to me 
I will be true to him. 
69 



Now, boys, I hope you understand- 
IVe tried to make it clear, 

For I would like to be at peace, 
With every fellow here. 



70 



A CHILD'S PLEA. 

Why must you go, my papa ? 

I think it's very queer, 
You never used to leave us, 

You always lived right here. 

I thought when mamma told me, 
This morning when I woke. 

That you were really going 
You meant it as a joke. 

Although she looked so sober 

And said I musn't cry. 
And that when things were settled 

I'd see you by and by. 

What does she mean by "settled"? 

And what is a divorce? 
When I asked nurse about it, 

It made her awfully cross. 

She thinks 'cause I am little 
I shouldn't question so. 

But if you were her papa 
Fm sure she'd want to know. 
71 



Joe Simpson lost his papa, 
But then, you see, he died, 

He told me all about it, 
And how his mamma cried. 

And I was awfully sorry, 
I gave him my new ball, 

And my best agate marbles, 
And made him keep them all. 

But I could not console him 
With any of my toys ; 

He'd rather have a father 
Like other little boys. 

Why, papa, what's the matter? 

Your eyes have got so red, 
I do believe vou're crying 

'Cause Joey's papa's dead. 



72 



THE LOST KITE. 

Poor little man, is your heart quite broken, 
Broken because your kite is gone? 

Sadly you stand in the sunny meadow 
With arms uplifted and eyes forlorn. 

And the beautiful landscape seems to darken 
As you look through the mist of your falling 
tears. 

And in your impotent wrath and sorrow 
You feel the weight of your seven years. 

But I little man, as I strive to comfort 
Your childish grief, that is oh ! so real, 

Rejoice in my heart that the years are many 
Ere you'll know the griefs that your elders feel. 

For we big folks, we have our troubles, 
We fly our kites, and we lose them, too, 

And when they are gone, they are gone forever. 
But a brand new kite will comfort you. 
73 



And an hour hence I shall see you smiling, 
Your trouble forgotten in some new play ; 

But we, little man, when we lose a treasure, 
We mourn its loss for many a day. 



74 



THE CHILDREN OF THE TENEMENTS. 

(A Plea.) 

Poor little feet that have never trod 

The soft sweet turf of the country sod, 

Poor little eyes that have never seen 

The beautiful meadows of gold and green ; 

What to you are the color and light 

That flood the earth from morn till night ? 

Never a ray of the genial sun 

Enters the courts from which you come; 

All you see is a patch of blue, 

Over the roofs that shelter you ; 

Only a patch of the infinite sky, 

Over the chimneys dark and high ; 

Never a breath of the country air. 

Never a sight of the meadows fair; 

Only a narrow, dirty street. 

Where the hard stones bruise your little feet; 

Poor little feet that would love to roam, 

Where the daisies and buttercups make their 

home, 
Or scamper along by the ocean's side. 
And dance in the beautiful sparkling tide. 
75 



Ah ! what a glorious treat it would be 
If you only could play by that wonderful sea, 
And dig big holes in the shining sand, 
And watch the great white breakers land ! 
Or frolic about in the woods and fields, 
And gather the flowers the brown earth yields. 
What eager wonder would fill your eyes ; 
It would be such a strange and delightful sur- 
prise, 
From the narrow court and the dingy room 
To the beautiful world of light and bloom. 



75 



A NEWSBOY'S STORY. 

"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the 
least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto 
me." — Matthew xxv. 40. 

The snow was falHng in great big flakes, 
As white as the sugar they sift on cakes. 
And the wind it took you by surprise. 
And made you shiver and blink your eyes. 
So fierce and angry-like it blew, 
You'd have almost thought it was mad at you. 
And Joe and me were awful cold, 
And only half of our papers sold. 
And we were hungry and tired, too, 
And Joe's little fingers were nearly blue. 
For we'd been out in the cold so long, 
And Joe has never been over strong. 
But Joe he ain't the chap to complain, 
You see, he's used to bearing pain. 
And many a time when he's feeling bad, 
He'll whistle away as if he was glad — 
When another youngster would be in tears; 
He's a plucky chap for seven years. 
Well, this here night he whistled away, 
77 



And hadn't hardly a word to say. 

But his whistle sounded a kind o' weak, 

So I just thought it was time to speak. 

Says I to him, and I spoke real gruff, 

''You've stood this cold just long enough. 

There ain't no sense in trudging about 

When I can sell your papers out, 

For I don't mind this sort of a storm, 

So you skip home, and try to get warm," 

And I strove to take his papers away. 

But Joe held on, and declared he'd stay. 

And it looked as though we were having a fight, 

When a jolly old gentleman came in sight, 

And called to me in a threatening tone, 

"I say, let that little chap alone." 

Then Joe spoke up, right pert and smart, 

So eager was he to take my part. 

And when the old gentleman understood, 

That I was bullying him for his good. 

And that Joe and I were the best of friends. 

He seemed real anxious to make amends. 

For having thought that I would fight 

Such a wee little chap on such a night. 

And he said he'd give us lads a treat, 

''If we would follow him down the street 

To a big restaurant he knew. 

We both should have an oyster stew." 

Well, Joe and I were so surprised, 

78 



We stood and gaped with mouth and eyes. 
We were a sort of dazed, you see, 
For treats were new to Joe and me. 
And when we entered a fine door, 
And saw white tables by the score; 
And such an awful glare of light, 
Our hearts just beat with sudden fright. 
But soon a man, with smiling face, 
Gave Joe and me a cosy place 
At a small table all alone. 
With cloth so white it fairly shone. 
And then he brought two smoking bowls. 
And a huge plate of big brown rolls ; 
And lots of butter, and some tarts 
Made in the shape of little hearts. 
Well, I just smiled to see Joe eat, 
The way that kid enjoyed the treat. 
For he was hungry as could be. 
And 1, I ate enough for three. 
And when we were about to go, 
Our benefactor seemed to know. 
For up he popped, and looked so kind, 
Though we felt shy, we didn't mind. 
Because he seemed to feel our joy, 
As if he'd been a hungry boy. 
I'm sure he must have understood. 
And that was why he was so good. 
For as a rule folks must be told, 
When you are hungry and cold. 
'79 



Unless they've had the feehng, too, 
They never know what's troubHng you. 
So Joe and I felt very sure 
That our old friend had once been poor. 
I shouldn't be surprised if he 
Had once sold papers just as we. 
And had been cold and hungry, too, 
On days when customers were few. 
For since that night we often meet, 
And he has bought us many a treat. 
And many a shining nickel, too, 
Has he let fall to help us through, 
Somehow, he always seems to know, 
When times are hard with me and Joe. 
For he will come, and speak so kind, 
And say, "Well, fellows, have you dined? 
Come, limber up, we'll have a treat, 
I know that boys can always eat." 
Then off we'll go, both Joe and I, 
You never saw two chaps so spry. 
And our old friend declares that he 
Enjoys those treats as much as we. 



80 



JUN 7 1904 



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